


Prove Them Right

by alamxrt



Series: Riku and Alec's Bizarre Adventure(s) [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, POV Alternating, Period Typical Attitudes, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamxrt/pseuds/alamxrt
Summary: Ｍ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ Ｔ Ｅ Ｒ.                    ︴ is tнαt what they told you? ︴                              —– Well, don’t prove them right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JIdJLkJ0S4  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hyh4NvaHm_0  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqlB2E0mZkQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I saw, from eyes that were not mine."

        Rikuto was always one to be described with an air of mystery. Many questions circled whenever he was brought up, but there tends to be little truth to it all whenever he answers those questions. The typical age question brushed off easily, the questions of his backstory downright ignored. The only ones who knew the answers himself or his dead family. Needless to say, he didn't exactly like anyone talking about how he came to be, much less anything that he has done in is lifetime. His hands were stained with blood and he was the cause of it all. Everyone has their demons, but his are something that bite at other people more than him. Something that people drown in and get lost. Like himself, his demons are dangerous and not to be taken lightly.

        So then, why are you being told all this? Ahah. Because... _this is a story for the ages._

* * *

        Rikuto was born - well, not actually born, per se. He was... created. - to a small family filled with bad blood. His mothers were two young royals who married an inventor - his father. He had an older brother named Belial who he grew to love quite well. Except, it might as well be narcissism, really. Riku was made in Belial's image, split off from Belial's soul. Rikuto was... his innocence. His incorruptible innocence that Belial wanted to destroy without any remorse. Unfortunately, Rikuto also happened to be his strength and determination as well, part of it splitting with his soul to create a boy who, while he loved his brother, wasn't above killing him, either. He was apart of Belial that hated himself, the part of himself that lacked self-preservation instincts and care for himself. Part of himself... that built his own identity the more he was around the family.

        When Rikuto was found out by the two women his father had wed for their money, he was immediately taken into the family. Pampered and loved beyond his means, he was a happy child. He was given gifts beyond his wildest dreams, ruining the research and study that his father had put so much time into. Of course, this sparked many a fight until his mothers eventually had to leave. Without taking him with them, too. Left behind, he withdrew into a shell that could not be broke by anyone. Not even his own brother could get him to open again, much to his father's displeasure.

        In order to get more answers about the ritual he'd used to split their souls, he summoned the original demon once again. The instructions he got were choppy at best, but he was determined to get more answers. He pushed the demon just a little too far, threatened just a little too much, got just a little too close... and the salt circle was broken. Thrown into chaos, Belial and Rikuto ran as soon as they saw the sight of blood. Belial had more self preservation instincts now that the term danger was removed from his vocabulary, prompting him to leave Riku in the dust. And his little brother was eaten by demons, feasted upon as though he were a main course in a dinner made just for them.

        And thus, incorruptible innocence was corrupted. Sundered and torn apart by creatures that warped his soul, tainting it black and blue. Bruised. Abandoned. Forgotten.

        _'Why brother, why? Why did you leave me alone?'_ **Because you are not to be trusted, because you are a part of me I never wanted. Because you are not my brother.**

        Rikuto was never good at pulling himself together. He wasn't skilled in creating another life to live. Didn't know the first part about being human. Blending in was difficult and he didn't have any idea what he had missed out whenever he did come back. His parents were gone. His brother disappeared. He was just a child living on the streets, forced to steal and take whatever he could, whenever he could. Poor kid, must've had it rough. Dealing with demons and vampires, angels and humans. And there was he, a creature no one had discovered before. Something no one knew, _someone_ no one knew but the kids who'd he'd banded together with.

        Isolated, forcing themselves to eat whatever they could find on the streets. Sometimes they went without food all together. Sometimes they were forced to starve and sit out in the cold, huddled close to him in an attempt to steal his warmth. An attempt to keep heated whenever snow fell around them. Without a roof over their heads or anyone to care but themselves. Forced to bathe in dirty water whenever they needed to, sometimes go without baths all together.

        Riff raff, street rat. That's all he was. All he was known to be. And as the others got older, he knew they would die. Sick and scared, afraid and alone. Without family or care. He took it upon himself to steal medicine, to take from the rich and give to the poor. An old world robin hood, giving to kids who could fall ill in the plague and hope it would work. In the end, when he was covered in blood and surrounded by bodies, he couldn't help but think _'I tried my best.'_ But his best wasn't good enough. Not now, not ever. Just a child, left to his own devices, hoping someone would save him from himself before he hurt anyone else. A child covered in scars from fighting dogs and people alike, from trying to pick up rats and cook them for dinner, hoping that they would sustain the humans children around him. A kid playing mother hen, hoping he could save the world.

        _'I am not human, even though I want to be. I am not human and that saddens me.'_ **No, you aren't real. You aren't human, you aren't alive. You were me, the part I hated and ripped out.**

        When it was just him, he grew. He feasted upon what he could, what was nearest. Nothing hurt him, made him sick, gave him a disease. He wasn't human, he didn't suffer human illnesses. He could get weak, but he was not human and things like colds and sickness did not kill him. He could not be destroyed by simple means. Even when the dogs would bite him, cats would claw him, he did not bleed. He did not bleed because he was no real, he did not feel emotions, he did not have human flesh and blood. He was an amalgam of emotions and sickness, swirling around in his lack of self-preservation and represented as a child, a street monger begging for coin that would not come to him. Forced to steal and eat whatever he could find, often getting threats of losing a finger or a hand. He did not fear, did not have any emotion aside from apathy. What was emotion if he couldn't show it to people he cared about? Did he even care? No. So then, why did he surround himself with peace and love and hope that people cared for him?

        Because he liked the feeling. Being around those who relied on him made him feel important and he liked it. He didn't have anything else, so he focused on what he did have. He cared and nursed people back to help. He wanted to be a doctor, to save lives and make people feel better about themselves. He wanted to listen to their worries, their problems, and help them get over them. He wanted to perform surgeries that could save lives and cure diseases that plagued humans. He wanted to work together to make life better for everyone, not just the rich, but also the needy. He wanted a better life for children like him, children who could do what they wanted and not worry about getting sick or having to stay out in the cold whenever it snowed. Children who didn't worry about rain or sleet or when their next meal was going to happen.

        He didn't want people to worry about selling themselves or making money by doing disastrous things. He didn't want people to worry about medical bills or when they could get their next high. He wanted to help, but as a child he was useless and hopeless. So he stole what he needed and gave it out to people under the guise that the local doctors were helping the poor. People believed and came to him for help, taking doses and getting better with each one. Sick children made better in just an instant by his help. People's broken bones healed proper and they could work to provide for their family's once more.

        _'Was I helpful, mother, father? Did I save lives? Did I make the right choice? Can you not hear me? Your son? The one you love...'_ **They did not care, they did not love. You were not their child.**

        He tried. He tried his best to rescue people, but winter set in and he couldn't keep up. He stole more and more until the clinic was empty and he was forced to go further away to get what he needed. People dropped like flies, dead and whispering 'why did you let me die?' as they looked at him. He had dreams, he dreamt he was the one killing them. Bathed in their blood, just a child no older than twelve, forced to kill and take orders like he was a soldier on the battle field. A child soldier, killing innocents and other soldiers alike. Forced to torture and maim. He was just a child, he shouldn't-

        _'Mother, father, I'm scared. What have I done? What is this blood on my hands?'_ **You are not real. You do not feel emotions like fear or care. You are not human, you are not real. You are not alive.**

        And so, he died that night. Cold and alone, scared for his life as people finally realized who the little thief was. Tortured and killed mercilessly without a single thought otherwise. He was just a child, just a child trying to live his life and help people along the way. He was just a child, just a child. A child who could not see what he was doing was wrong. A child who did not know anything other than love and care. A child who opened his heart to the world, a heart that had been tainted with black and coloured with corruptness that only rivalled a demon. A child who became the very thing that people thought he was.

        _'Mother, father, they came back today. They came to tear me apart and leave me on the street. Mother, father, I cannot feel. Can you feel? Can you feel how I do?'_ **You weren't real, you never felt. You'll never feel, you aren't real.**

 


End file.
